A Life Without Preston
by GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda
Summary: Post s2 Finale. Cristina’s feelings about...well. Everything. Basically what she was thinking before she went into Burke’s room and held his hand.


**A Life Without Preston **

by greyeyedgirl

A/N: Burke is **not** dead. No worries. I am **not** a sick person. Unless you count me laughing when Denny died. :D

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Post s2 Finale. Cristina's feelings about...well. Everything. Basically what she was thinking before she went into Burke's room and held his hand.

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"_I can't...No no no no no."_

Cristina stood leaning against the door to the on-call room, her face pale white and her eyes squinting back tears. The memory of Izzie lying in the hospital bed with Dead Denny she couldn't shake from the brim of her brain.

Cristina shook her head fiercely, hearing her loud breathing and pushing away the tears. _But---_ she thought slowly. _But I thought---Izzie was just losing it._

_I thought---I thought she wa---..._

_Did she **love** him?_

****Izzie had definitely _thought_ she loved him. And Cristina knew, knew without a doubt, that she loved Preston, that she could not remember what her life was like without him and did not want to.

Cristina thought of the tears plaguing Izzie's face and shook her head harder, the low messy bun she had wrapped her hair in a few hours before coming undone and smacking acrost her face. Another memory of a girl huddled on a hospital bed crying so hard her heart might break resurfaced in her memory, and Cristina shook harder.

She could not, not lose Preston.

_WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING! GO! Go, get in there._

_Go . . . . . ._

Cristina closed her eyes, sinking down against the door of the on-call room until she was sitting on the stiff carpeted floor.

She opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She paused, realizing.

This was the on-call room she had first been with him in. She remembered how steady he had been, how firm he had looked as he stared into his eyes.

_"Are you sure?" he'd murmured._

_Logically, she wanted to ignore that question, because it led to dangerous areas, and dangerous things were something to fear, something to dread, something to run from. But instinctively, emotionally, whatever-the-fuck-ly, she knew that she had no doubt of what she wanted to do, what she was going to do, how she was going to react to each one of his kisses. He looked at her in that deep way that he sometimes did when he was trying to tell her something without scaring her away, and she had pulled him closer on top of her, letting his lips reach hers once again._

There. It had been right _there_ that all that had happened, that so much had begun. Cristina vaguely wondered how many babies had been conceived on that bunk, which led her to wonder how many lives and careers had been ruined on the sidewalk outside of the hospital.

There was a twisting at the doorknob, and Cristina reached upwards and back, grabbed the handle and held firmly. She heard a woman's voice swear, it sounded familiar, and then:

"Dammit! I don't care if you're screwin' or sleepin,' you better answer this door because it's _my_ turn to nap."

Cristina stood up, turning to face the door and carefully turned the handle. Miranda Bailey stared at her.

"Sorry," Bailey mumbled uncharacteristically. Cristina didn't respond, just pushed past her.

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Cristina sat on the bench outside the hospital, staring out at the black night. She was never really one for sentiment, she was never the girl outside watching nature's naked beauty. She was the one _inside_, working, studying, reading a random medical text as she munched on Chinese food, or running errands for a teacher/random authority figure, trying to suck up.

She was somehow glad she could only see blackness, and not faces, the only light coming from the bright yellowish-white lights coming from inside the hospital, and the glow of the moon.

She looked up at the sky for a few moments, hesitating before counting the stars. Astronomy had always been her favorite subject in science, after biology and chemistry, of course. Space was just so..._fascinating._ She watched the tiny white specs in the distance, her mind trying to comprehend the amount of matter between herself and there. She wasn't one to believe in any kind of 'Higher Power,' but she had to admit the view was pretty breathtaking. That was science, in her opinion. So exciting, it could take your breath away. Then what was left for the rest of the world? What on earth would she be able to accomplish, with her last breath?

She turned her head away from the distance, turning on the bench so she was staring at the dark, cold pavement. She quickly turned away. The sidewalk leading up to the hospital was stained almost brown, and she knew who's blood was splattered all over the pavement. How had she not noticed while she was coming out?

_How had she gotten here?_ She was **Cristina. Yang.** She was valedictorian! She had had **4 **published reports in two of the most prestigious medical journals in the country-all before she had graduated med school. She was a **doctor.** A surgeon. She was...she was _normal_. She hated cooking and laundry, and she was always the kid munching on Halloween candy all the way to next year's June. She was Cristina Yang. She did not fall in love, she did not get hurt, she did not---

_She did not---_

she closed her eyes, feeling sleep overcome her as her head slopped forward onto her chest.

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Cristina awoke just over an hour later, by the sound of two people's laughter, one chuckle familiar and then a giggle that was not. She opened her eyes blearily, seeing George leading Callie out of the hospital, both of them laughing. She blinked at them sleepily, George smiled and gave a little wave, which she ignored, standing up and stretching her arms. The night seemed overly steamy, she tentatively brushed her long bedraggled hair off of her face, rubbing her skin tiredly. Passing by them without recognition, she followed her instinct into the light, hearing the tiny _swish_ as the automatic doors open. Smelling the familiar scent of sterility, she passed by a tired looking teenager accompanied by his mother, walked past the receptionist as she headed into the just-opening elevator, as the only occupant, an intern she vaguely recognized from Plastics, dressed and ready to go home, stepped out, leaving her to enter the empty cubicle.

_Ding._

She stepped out of the moving doors, heading towards the surgical locker room. She wouldn't be heading home tonight. She could not bear to think of sitting or sleeping in Burke's apartment, the familiar cleanliness washing over her, sleeping on their bed and having to smell his scent, know he wouldn't return that night. Or the next night. Or the next night.

"Bullet was enlodged in his _spine._ He might never be able to operate again. They just don't know yet."

Cristina turned as subtle-ly as she could, spotting three nurses huddled in a corner, not seeing her.

"And that girlfriend of his...Yang? She's not even _in_ there. She's probably scrubbed in into some hot new surgery, oblivious and not even _caring._"

"What can you expect?" The third nurse spoke up. "All of Bailey's interns are like that...breaking rules, crossing lines. I saw that blonde one, that Stevens, crying like someone told her it was _her_ boyfriend that got shot...Pale as can be, looked like a would-be Prom Queen that got stood up. All because some patient died. He was a _heart_ transplant victim. His health was horrible. What was she expecting?"

Cristina pushed past them, the second and the third nurse noticed her and looked suddenly uncomfortable, but the first one's back was now turned, as she scribbled on a chart. "Maybe Yang's will be next. Maybe then she'll regret not paying attention to-" The third nurse had nudged her, and they were now all staring at her as she passed. Cristina kept silent, keeping her face towards the ground.

She had to pass Burke's room to get to the locker room, where she'd change into her scrubs. She closed her eyes before she got to the shades, bracing herself as she leaned against the world.

_"Maybe Yang's will be next."_

The vision of Izzie, heartbroken, next to a dead man she had believed to be in love with.

_"Maybe then she'll regret..."_

Cristina gathered all her strength, squeezing her eyes shut, and didn't bother to look through the blinds as she firmly ripped the door to Burke's hospital room open, going in and grasping his hand as strongly and lovingly as she could. She would _not_ become Isobel Stevens, crazy and unaware of what was going on around her.

She was **Cristina. Yang.**

She caught the look of surprise on Burke's face, which transformed quickly into a small smile, which she tried to return briefly, closing her eyes as she held onto his hand.

Burke was _not_ going to be like Denny. He was not a "virile, horse of a man." He was a cardiothoracic surgeon, the _best_ cardiothoracic surgeon.

He was **Preston. Burke. **... The cardiothoracic surgeon, the kind, good cooking man from Alabama she had fallen in love with.


End file.
